A Puzzle Without An Answer
by Master of Caffeine
Summary: Professor Hershel Layton: esteemed archaeologist, puzzle master...and an ingenious serial killer. Oneshot, rated T for violence. Written for AtomicScribble.


A small office in the business district of London. It was hardly the most interesting choice of headquarters, but over the last few months it had served him well. He'd informed Luke of the move, obviously, but the boy was too young and inexperienced to understand the reason he had left his old residence behind.

Hershel Layton sighed to himself. Solitude proved to be boring after the first few weeks, so he had spent the afternoon coming up with new puzzles. He had to maintain a living after all, and puzzles were second nature to him.

Even alone and unseen, Layton still brought himself to maintain a strong sense of civility and formality. He had dressed in his typical black suit and wore the elegant top hat that had become his trademark, as if this ritual was a business in himself.

A clock bell rang on the other side of the room, chiming eight times.

"That will do for tonight, I think."

Calmly and serenely he rose from his chair, shuffling his suit back into place. Walking out into a perfectly sorted office, he looked at the perfectly ordered bookshelf, filled with puzzle books listed in alphabetical order. Tonight he picked out an older volume, 'Puzzles for the Eager Mind', one of his all time favourites.

_Tonight is the 3rd of April, so it will be Page 34._

Opening the book with surgical care, he flicked forward to page 34. Amusingly he read the puzzle upon the page and solved it in a matter of seconds, as he usually did. He grinned – tonight would be easier than usual with a puzzle like this to work from.

Replacing the book, he walked towards the door, making sure to grab his trusted revolver on the way out.

After all, you could never be too safe on the London streets at night, as Layton was about to prove.

--

He had never been stopped or suspected by anyone before. After all, he was Hershel Layton, esteemed archaeologist and puzzle master, one of the most loved scholars in the country. He was a man of peace, not violence – the thought would never come to him, surely.

_The perfect alibi – the assumption of the public._

His proper demeanour probably helped him avoid suspicion. He seemed too intelligent to resort to violence, let alone the atrocity he planned to commit tonight. Internally he had to laugh at the masses to ignorant to consider that their hero, Professor Layton, may not be the exemplary man people they believed him to be.

_Hm...he will do as a target._

The victim tonight would be this man – thin, relatively well dressed, healthy. Layton didn't know his name, what he did, or where he came from – he'd never met him before in his life.

Then again, that was how the plan worked.

He followed the target, constantly maintaining his formal pose, until the two were alone in an alley. His stance, as always, ensured that the victim suspected nothing as Layton pulled out the rag from behind him and covered his mouth with it. In shock the man fought back for a few seconds, but Layton was surprisingly strong and the chloroform did its work quickly. As Layton left the alley, he appeared to be doing his best to help a struggling man to walk.

No one would ever see that man alive again.

--

_He should be waking up any minute now._

His timing, as always, was perfect. The dose of chloroform had been precise enough to knock him out for the exact length of time it would take for Layton to prepare the performance. Any longer gave witnesses more time to happen upon the scene, which would result in more blood on his hands.

The sight that greeted the man when he awoke was not a pleasant one. He was tied firmly to a chair, and a revolver sat on a desk aimed neatly at his forehead. He followed through with his natural instinct and began to call for help. Frustrated, Layton picked the gun up and held it against the man's temple.

"You will be silent if you wish to have any hope of leaving alive."

Quickly the man's cries faded into the distance. No-one heard them, anyway – the warehouse had been abandoned years previously, and he'd been sure to check for anyone in the area as he arrived.

Slowly the hostage began to stutter. "W-w-who are you?"

Layton sighed. The man knew damn well who he was, he just didn't want to believe it.

"Since you appear to have never heard of me, let me introduce myself. I am Hershel Layton, esteemed archaeologist and puzzle master extraordinaire. You?"

The victim paused for a minute as he considered exactly who was holding him hostage, then realised it was in his best interests to reply.

"J-Joseph. Joseph S-"

"I don't want your surname, Joseph," Layton muttered as he pushed the revolver forward, digging into Joseph's skin. "I simply wanted a name to call you by, rather than 'the man whose life is in my hands'. Rather a mouthful, that."

Joseph looked into Layton's eyes. There was no anger, only a cool, calculated stare into his own eyes. He wanted to look away, but he was afraid that doing so would only serve to irritate his kidnapper further.

"W-what do you want with me?" he asked, desperate and still confused. "I've never even met you before! I just heard about you!"

Layton began to grin. He moved the revolver away from the man's head, placing it back on the desk.

"That, my friend, is precisely the point."

Joseph, confused, simply sat silently as the Professor began a lecture as to his motives.

"You see, for all my years I've loved puzzles. The ones I loved, more than anything else, were the ones I couldn't solve. I adored the idea that there were new ideas I had yet to consider, new angles I never looked at – if anything learning how to solve these puzzles killed them, gave them a concrete conclusion rather than some magical opportunity I had yet to find."

As his speech continued, Layton's voice began to rise. His hands – with gloves, Joseph noticed - were all over the place – grasping at air, then letting go, then grasping again at every revelation.

"Now, in my later years, I find that there are no puzzles I have yet to solve. After all, every puzzle has an answer, so I had to solve them eventually. But-"

At this point Layton raised a single finger, inquisitively but powerfully. It scared Joseph, as did the still calm look on the scholar's face.

"But! Assume that someone were to create a puzzle with no answer than can be found. Would that not, then, be the greatest puzzle ever invented? Would it not be something equivalent to Fermat's Last Theorem, which for centuries has taunted mathematicians with a supposedly easy proof? I thought of this, and realised that I alone had the experience necessary to create this puzzle, and for months now it has been my life's work."

Again the finger pointed, now towards Joseph. He instinctively tried to pull back, but the ropes made it impossible. Layton was grinning now, as if he'd told a joke to his prisoner.

"Then! I realised that a mere puzzle in a book would not be enough to catch the eyes of the world. No, despite all my fame and prestige, there would be people too ignorant, too...common to consider my puzzle. So I had to make it something that no-one could stand to ignore, one that would force a nation – if not a planet – to stop and look. And then it came to me."

The energy seemed to vanish from Layton. He returned to his cool, calm pose.

"Murder." He toyed with the word, running it across his lips in a manner that terrified the captive Joseph.

"The fear of death is something we all must face during our lives. Suppose, though, there were a killer whose methods were so perfect, so flawless, that he was never discovered. That, surely, would attract the attention of the masses, would it not?"

Joseph nodded. He'd heard about the murders which had been taking place recently, about how the killer was clearly a genius, leaving behind no clues or evidence – but it had always been someone else's problem not his.

"Well, then, it seems you understand your role in my little game. However, I am a gentleman, so I will give you a chance to survive."

Joseph's eyes widened at this. After all his scheming, he was giving him a chance to escape?

"W-what do you want from me?"

"I want an answer – to a puzzle, that is. What more fitting way could I have to test you than with a riddle?"

Layton's cheerfulness was returning, as frightening now as it was before.

"You're lucky. You've been chosen for one of my favourite puzzles – the Three-Way Shootout. I picked it out just for you, since right now I think the concept of gunfire means a lot to you, doesn't it Joseph?"

Layton began to recite the puzzle from heart, keeping up his happy tone whilst sounding like he was reading out loud:

_The Three-Way Shootout:_

_Three men – A, B and C - meet one day to have a shootout. They stand at a distance from each other so that no injury is possible besides through a shot._

_The three have differing experience with firearms: _

_A is an expert, able to shoot a man from this distance five times out of six._

_B is less experienced, hitting half the time._

_C is a beginner, only hitting once in every six attempts._

_The three men will take turns to fire at each other. Due to his poor aim, C will fire first, followed by B, followed by A. The duel will continue until only one man survives._

_What should C do with his first shot to maximise his chance of survival?_

Layton finished his recital, bowing as if performing a play. Joseph's eyes clenched as he began to think over the puzzle to himself. Never before had he found it more important to solve a riddle, so he focused every ounce of his being into it. It was an effort that Layton found slightly embarrassing, given that this puzzle took him only a minute at the most.

"Time is of the essence, Joseph. I tire easily."

Being rushed did little to help Joseph's nerve, causing him only to sweat harder. His teeth dug into each other and ground themselves away, but that wasn't as important as what was happening now.

"Five...four..."

Could it just be to shoot A? It wasn't that simple, surely, but not going for the best shooter would be worsening his own chances-

"...three...two..."

There wasn't time to think of a trick. Layton was bluffing, surely.

"...one-"

"Shoot at A! Shoot at A!"

Layton, maintaining his poker face, looked deep into Joseph's eyes. He saw fear, horror and anger in equal volumes. Emotion, too, was a puzzle with no answer – it was what raised men above machines, but no-one could pinpoint exactly what caused them. It was not his category, anyway – he was no psychologist.

"Wrong." He was blunt, simple, and brutal with his reply. Joseph gulped under his breath, terrified of the Professor. Again Layton began to recite, this time reciting the answer:

_C should fire AWAY from A and B, effectively skipping his turn._

_On B's turn, he will have the option of shooting A or C. A is more likely to kill him than C, so it is in his best interest to shoot at A, with a 1 in 2 chance to hit._

_If B misses, A will have the option of shooting B or C. B is more likely to kill him than C, so it is in his best interest to shoot B, with a 5 in 6 chance to hit._

_If A misses as well, C fires away from A and B again, repeating the process._

_Through this method C cannot be the first combatant to die, and he will also get a free shot on the survivor of the fight between A and B._

Again the recital finished, although by the conclusion there was a detectable hint of irritation. Joseph began to shake uncontrollably. He'd failed, he was dead now.

"That was a simple riddle, Joseph. Nothing compared to what I have been planning all this time."

Layton returned to the desk, grabbed the gun and aimed it straight between Joseph's eyes.

"Frankly, I am ashamed."

The shot rang through the warehouse, killing Joseph instantly. The force knocked the chair back, and the body was left on the floor, looking at nothing but the ceiling.

Layton sighed to himself again. Perhaps one day he would find someone as able to work under pressure as him, someone like his old apprentice Luke. He'd left six months ago, along with that girl Flora, claiming he'd learned everything his Professor knew. That was the day things changed, the day when he realised that he had something to prove in order to maintain his honour.

_You know nothing, my boy. A true puzzle master would have solved this long ago._

Discarding the revolver – not his own, and wholly identical to hundreds of others, Layton strolled serenely out of the building. No doubt his escapades would once again make the front page of the London Times tomorrow morning, just as they always did. The only difference is that he would never be credited for these, or rather no-one would think of crediting them to him.

_After all, I am Hershel Layton. When have I ever raised a finger against another man?_

Walking out alone into the streets, he looked up at the sky. The moon was radiant and beautiful tonight, and he used its light to guide him as he began his journey home.

He tipped his hat to Luna, the only witness to his crime, and one that would never speak.


End file.
